


teambuilding

by deadlybride



Series: fic for climate crisis [8]
Category: Walker (TV 2021)
Genre: BDSM Scene, Established Relationship, Femdom, Multi, Paddling, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-20 09:27:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30002784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadlybride/pseuds/deadlybride
Summary: On the first Sunday of every month, Walker comes to Micki and Trey's place to play.
Relationships: Trey Barnett/Micki Ramirez, Trey Barnett/Micki Ramirez/Cordell Walker
Series: fic for climate crisis [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2173491
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	teambuilding

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for climate relief in Texas. Personalized fics are available on request; see [this post on my tumblr](https://zmediaoutlet.tumblr.com/post/629171809812643840/fic-for-fire-relief) for more info.

Sunday afternoons are Micki's favorite time of the week. Most of the urgent chores done the day before, and work coming tomorrow, but for now—a good brunch tucked away, and the dishes done, and a nice bath after that to soak out any last bit of tension in advance of the week ahead. She'll do a face mask before bed and fix up her nails and nothing else is really on the agenda. A perfect lazy feeling.

First Sunday of every month is special. Less lazy but just as good. After the bath she combs out her hair in front of the mirror. She takes her time. Brunch today was tequila sunrises along with the rajas tacos, and during the bath she had a glass of white wine, indulging herself. She's not tipsy, but she's relaxed. She ignores the low chatter from inside the bedroom and tips her head back and forth, checking the length. Tomorrow, time for a call to the salon. She shrugs on her silky bathrobe—a rare girly gift, from Trey, that she'd ribbed him for but loves—and pulls the long damp fall of her hair over her shoulder, and when she steps out into the bedroom the boys are still kneeling, exactly where she left them, and they come to attention, their eyes finding her immediately, a smile still on Walker's face even if he's definitely going to be punished, today. He doesn't seem like he ever minds.

"What are you grinning about?" she says. She goes to the window, adjusts the blinds just a touch. Slanted upward so no one can see in but still letting in the afternoon light.

"Cordell here doesn't think we got a chance in the Army-Navy game," Trey says. "I told him, you sailor boys get those sea legs, no way you're getting a first down."

"Okay, dude," Walker says, scoffing, and Micki smiles, her back still to them. "Navy crushed you guys thirteen years in a row, I don't think the sea legs are a problem."

"Yeah? And who's been winning the last few?" Micki goes to her chest of drawers and glances over to find Trey cupping a few fingers behind his ear, theatrical, while Walker sighs. "Yeah, yeah, that's what I thought."

She smiles—he's such a sweetheart and can be _such_ a dick—but still, there are rules to follow. "Posture," she says, and Trey straightens up, hands behind his back, still grinning.

Walker shakes his head, looking to her instead. "Can't believe you deal with this every night," he says, and she raises her eyebrows and says, "This coming from the clown I have to deal with every day?" and Walker ducks his head down but she can see the dimples across the room.

"Posture," she says, again, and pulls the paddle out of the bottom drawer.

Trey's much better behaved. Much more practice with the rules and an understanding of the benefits of following them. Walker… is Walker. Pushing boundaries, testing limits. Already today he broke the rules during brunch, and earned his first punishment early; she suspects they'll have a few more to dole out, before the day's done.

Walker lifts his head but he still isn't settled perfect, not like he's supposed to be. She walks a circle around the two of them, checking mainly for show. Trey's solid, on his knees. Legs spread just enough, his dick hanging plumped and heavy between his thighs. Spine straight, shoulders squared, his hands tucked neat at the small of his back as though she'd placed them there herself. Eyes straight ahead, chin up. Parade rest. She gives him a little pat with the paddle on one shoulder and he smiles, giving her a quick glance.

She has to lift Walker's chin into the right place with the end of the paddle. "How many times?" she says, and he gives her an innocent look. The little chingadero.

"Telling you, man, you gotta practice," Trey says, and Walker says, "Oh, yeah, in the middle of the office, that'd be a good look for James to walk in on," while Trey laughs. Micki taps the paddle under his chin a little while he's talking, keeps his head up, and steps back to assess.

The first punishment wasn't all that bad, considering. Failure to keep still during brunch, when he was supposed to be silent and neat and not call attention to himself while Micki ate, for which he lost the privilege of his hands. Trey did a good job, on the knots, and Walker's beautifully trussed: his forearms bound together, behind his back, and a nice criss-cross of the white rope over his chest, framing his pecs. His shoulders are forced back, though she knows not painfully. She reaches out, touches his nipple. He squirms, hissing—strangely ticklish here, which is always fun—and Trey laughs, again. She says, "Be good," a little crossly, and swats his hip, and Trey chuckles, gets out, "My bad, my bad," biting his lip to subside.

"Yeah, be good," Walker murmurs, and Micki rolls her eyes. She goes to the side, checking him, while Trey says, "You were totally the class clown, weren't you?" A tap of the paddle to his chest, over the nipple she toyed with, and Walker leans back, thighs pulling the way she likes. His dick's not hard but it's big, anyway—a shower, and a beautiful one at that, thick and cut—and she walks around, a hard tap of the paddle to the inside of his thigh so he spreads more, shows the shape of those heavy balls. Dad dick, she thinks, incongruously, and for some reason that clenches, in her pussy.

"Okay, boys," she says, "time to settle up."

"Yes, ma'am," Trey says, still amused.

"Count," she says, lining up, and she may not be able to hit as hard as they could but the paddle's a nice one, frat-boy sized wood with holes drilled through the middle so it whistles as she brings it down in a firm arc, and Trey's prepped for it but he still flinches when it hits his ass—the muscle rippling with the force—and she holds it there for the second it takes for him to grunt, and say, "One."

Just five, for Trey. He's always good so this is really pro-forma, because she isn't capricious and following the rules is to be rewarded. Five solid spanks, with the paddle, hitting the same stretch of his ass so it'll really sting, and he counts off each one, smooth. Walker's eyes are closed, his head tipped down again so a few strands of hair have fallen down over his forehead, and Micki makes a note, another stroke added. When Trey's done she leans down, her hair swinging over her shoulder, and palms his ass, warm and firm. He pulls in a slow breath through his teeth but smiles at her. His dick's full, now, and if they were alone she'd be using it already, but. Duty calls.

"Posture," she says to Walker, standing up straight, and he lifts his chin, takes a deep breath. She's bad with her left and so she doesn't walk around to Walker's side but steps over Trey's bent calf, her hip against his shoulder so warm through the silky bathrobe. He leans back, almost imperceptibly, and she touches his cheek for a second before she sets the paddle to Walker's ass. "Count," she says, again, and hits as hard as she possibly can for that first one, and he half-lurches forward, his balance bad with his arms tied up behind him, and she watches the red blossom on his ass, the muscle there and on his back clenching and his toes curling, before he gets out, "One," and then she hits him again.

It's fun to play with his body, like this. Trey's fun, of course, but he's a sleek gorgeous model and sometimes she just looks at him, hands cuffed to the top of her bed and his body splayed, and he almost seems untouchable. Walker's skin flushes up at the slightest thing—when she scratches him, the red lines appear behind her nails in a half-second and stay for long enough that she almost thinks she's caused real damage—and he's… beautiful, of course, in the way that men's bodies are, but he's not perfect, like Trey. A little older, his skin starting in some places to seem thin. His hair showing threaded grey, at the temples, and the hair on his chest flecked with it. Five spanks down and his ass is bright red and the muscles in his arms are locked so hard it looks like it hurts. She switches it up a little—higher on the curve where his little pretty ass almost meets his back—further down, by his thigh, and that hurts, she knows, that's tender, and he twists away on that one, breaking another rule. "Fuck," he mutters, and she reaches down, hooks him by the rope over his shoulder and pulls him back into place.

"Trey can help if you can't manage it," she says, and Walker stretches his jaw, squares his shoulders back, says, "No." Stubborn. She smiles, rubs the paddle firm over his stinging ass, and keeps going.

Twenty-one, when she finishes. He's breathing hard, his strapped-down hands tight in fists. His dick's a little fuller, curved out over his balls. She gives him the same rub-down with her hand that she gave Trey, and he hisses but doesn't flinch away. Learning, a little.

"If you can't keep straight you're just going to keep earning more," she says. She drags light nails over his ass, up his back to where his arms are bound. "Maybe you can't learn, hm? We'll have to tie you up more. Get you a collar so you can't turn your head and break the rules anymore."

"You just want to see me in one," Walker says, eyes closed and his face flushed up, and Micki smiles. True, and she's probably going to order one anyway. Walker forced still, perfect, with his chin up and unable to move—a blindfold, maybe, too—yes. That would be lovely.

Still: more punishments and rewards to hand out, for today, and daydreams will have to wait for another time. She lays the paddle on the chest of drawers and walks around, loosening her bathrobe as she goes. When she sits on the bench at the end of the bed she spreads it out, around her, and lets her knees fall loose. It's very endearing, how both of their eyes go immediately to where she wants them. "Walker," she says, "come here," and he shuffles forward, knee-walking awkwardly, his balance shot. When he's between her legs she grips his hair and he grins, anticipating. "Oh, just get to work," she says, rolling her eyes and pushing him down, and he goes easy, willing, pressing a kiss to the inside of her thigh first like he always does—like saying hello—but then his mouth finds her pussy, hot and huge and breathing warm, getting her first with a wide wet lap of his tongue, and she was wet already from the paddling but god, he's good at this, and she spreads wider, propping herself up on her hands behind her, and settles in to enjoy it.

Trey's grinning, too, but he's—oh, he's very hard, now. He loves it when she gets eaten out, whether he's doing it or if she's found someone else to do the work. "He doing good?" Trey says, still posed and perfect, and she raises an eyebrow at him, maintaining her facial expression by dint of long practice. Walker—jesus, yes, he's doing good. He has some bizarre instinct for it, licking in strong pulsing laps and alternating just right to delicate work on her clit, and without his hands he's handicapped but he's doing his absolute best to make up for it. She's going to come just from this, she knows, but before that—more reward, more punishment.

"Your turn," she says, to Trey—a little breathy, sue her, Walker's teeth dragging so-light over her mound—and Trey unfolds like he heard a starter pistol, crawling over the rug to cover Walker's back, his hands immediately demanding and tugging Walker's hips back. Walker wobbles, badly, his weight uncertain on his knees, and she squeezes his shoulders with her thighs, helping as much as she cares to. He breathes hot against her, licking deep again—christ, his tongue right up against her vagina—and she clenches from that but also from seeing Trey get ready. He pushes his dick against Walker's ass, pressing between the cheeks—still red, and sore she bets, the skin abraded and stun. She hands him the bottle of lube from her robe pocket and he's efficient with it, squeezing a creamy-white line out straight down his dick and jerking himself once, twice, spreading it all over—and hands the bottle back to her, with a wink that makes her roll her eyes—and then lines up and pushes into Walker's ass without warning or pause, shoving straight in through the tightness, and Walker half-yells, right up against her pussy, and she grabs his head and grinds up into his mouth and enjoys the rippling shock, coursing right through him.

They take turns, with this. They both know they're supposed to be ready, and on some slower Sunday mornings she's helped Trey with it—cleaning him out, slipping slicked fingers inside. Trey enjoys it like he enjoys everything she wants to do to him, spreading his legs for it and smiling at her. When Walker's allowed to fuck him he rolls back into it, easy, his body loose, eager, because he knows that that's what she wants to see. Walker has a harder time. He shows up ready, ever since the first time she told him exactly what she expected and explained the consequences for failing to comply (and she thinks, though she's not positive and won't ask, that he was jerking off while she told him over the phone, late at night and his breathing unsteady). He doesn't hate it but it's not his preference and his body doesn't relax into it, like Trey's. He's a fucker, Micki thought once, not so much a fuckee. But it doesn't matter, now, because his preferences aren't required, in this room and on this day, and both he and Trey know what's expected. Trey pulls Walker's hips back and sets to fucking him, in a slow hard rolling pump that Micki knows very well, and Walker groans hard, makes this deep cut-off noise every time every time Trey bottoms out, and that's good, that's delicious, but Micki drags her fingers through his hair and fists at the back where it's so long he's skirting regs, and pulls meaningfully, and he drags in a staggered breath and reapplies his mouth where it belongs.

God—god, it's good. Her pussy's aching for something in it but just the sight of all this, Walker's working mouth, that's going to get her there. Walker's back is sheened with sweat, his hands clenching in rhythm with Trey's thrusts, and she watches avidly, there, where he's arched back into it, his asshole slick-red and stretched, Trey's dick fatly pulling where Walker's so tight, his body so reluctant to give it up. Trey's dick, wet, shoving. She wants it in her. She curls her hips, grinding up into where Walker's working her, and fuck, she's throbbing—she drags his mouth in harder and his teeth press into flushed plump of her labia, his tongue pushing in slick maddening circles, his grunting muffled, his arms pulling at the ropes, straining like he wants to rip out of them, break free, get his hands on her—oh, and when she looks up Trey's breathing hard through an open mouth but his eyes are right on her face, watching, like he's fucking her instead of Walker—and she lets go of Walker's hair and grips her own tit with one hand, squeezing, thumbing the nipple, arching up, drawing tight—and comes, sharp and fast, her pussy clenching hard on nothing, Walker's tongue slick-warm against her clit and holding there, knowing like he always does exactly what to do.

She shakes a little, always, the first time. Trey doesn't stop fucking Walker and she takes a minute to enjoy it—her thighs shuddering, her pussy giving up enough wet that she can feel a trickle, sliding down—Walker's mouth settled in place, pressing slightly harder every time Trey shoves in. She hums a little, to herself, spreading her thighs and lifting up, and Walker licks lower—licks the entrance to her vagina, where she's so turned on and swollen it's almost too much—and that's when she says, "Stop," to Trey, and he grinds up inside Walker deep and holds there, his hands tight on Walker's hips, his nipples tight. He wants to come and isn't choosy about where. Lucky for her, Micki's feeling greedy.

"Up," she says, tugging at Walker's hair. He lifts up, panting against her thigh for a second. Trey gets a grip on the rope binding Walker's arms and pulls, and Walker arches back against him, still caught on his dick. He's flushed, all over—the white rope cutting across his pink chest—his cheeks deep red in the hollows under the bones, his lips and chin glossy with spit and with her—his dick, dark red, not hard all the way but clearly aching, wanting something. Wet at the tip, like he's been leaking, and Micki slides a hand over her pussy at the thought—Trey grinding it out of him, milking him from the inside.

"My turn," she says, to Trey, and he grins, glad, while Walker groans. She bets Trey's dick flexed, inside. It's always happy to be somewhere warm. She stands up, while Trey pulls out, and Walker groans at that, too, his lips pulling back at the sting. She rubs her thumb over his mouth, swiping away her own slickness. "Be good," she reminds Walker, and he takes a deep breath and closes his lips over her thumb, sucking soft, his tongue slicking over the pad. Honestly, he could make a living with that mouth.

Trey's cleaning his dick off with a wet wipe, over at the chest of drawers. She gets an odd clench, in her gut, every time she sees that. She's thought about making Walker clean Trey off, sometime—the dark split of Trey's dick breaking open that stupid chattering mouth—but with all she's dragged out of Walker she thinks that might be a bit too far for his secret vanilla heart. Trey drops the wipe in the trashcan and looks up at her, and she beckons him over, and pushes him down, to sit where she'd been sitting, and she stands between his legs and pulls up the short hem of her bathrobe and sinks straight down, on his dick, savoring the thickness of it, how it spreads her. God. Walker's actually longer, which she didn't know was possible on someone who wasn't a pornstar, but Trey's got the width, and—"Fuck," she says, without meaning to, when she's down to the base, her lips split wide. She settles her hands on his thighs and he holds her hips, through the fabric—his forehead pressing against her shoulder, his breath coming deep and slow, like he's trying to hold onto control—and she starts grinding, taking her time with it, clenching deep around him, working herself with lazy selfishness.

Now: Walker's hard all the way. "Come here," she says, rocking slow, and he shuffles forward again. His knees must hurt. She cups his head and pulls him in and he finds her nipple, sucking, pulling at it in slow pulses to match the rhythm she's using, below. She pulls him to the other and feels the air shockingly cool where he's left spit behind, tipping her head back, using them both. Walker's teeth scrape her nipple and she pushes all the way down on Trey, squeezing, and Trey's fingers flex against her hips. God, like this—the fat split, all the way up inside. She always feels when she's riding like she's forcing them to give something up to her. She's taking, not giving.

She could force Walker's mouth back down to her clit but that's not in this second what she wants. She rubs herself, instead, shoving back on Trey, starting up longer strokes, squeezing him. Walker's teeth scrape again and she yanks his head back, and he's staring up at her with his pupils dark and his mouth wet and she pushes two fingers past his lips and he sucks, firm, tongue working the split between them—like he licks her pussy—like he'd suck a dick, she bets—oh, fuck, she wants to see that—wants to teach Walker how to get Trey all the way inside, how to spread for him, how to get his jaw aching and his throat knocked loose and get creamed up, so he'd pull up off Trey's dick and she'd force him to open his mouth and show her, show her all that white—fuck—and Trey says soft and warning behind her, "Mick," and she squeezes around him, fucks back onto him, feels his hands go tight—and then he groans and he's unloading inside, his dick flexing, giving it up to her. She squirms back onto him—fuck, she's so wet, she can hardly feel it—and lets him breathe hot against her back, unloading—and then she pushes at Walker's shoulders, unbalancing him. "Back," she says, pushing again, and his eyes are on where she's taking Trey but he fumbles backwards—lands on his ass, flinching—from the paddling or the fucking, she doesn't know—and she lifts off of Trey and steps forward and forces Walker back and sinks right down onto his dick, slicing up inside where she's already dripping.

"Jesus christ," Walker says, and she puts her hand over his mouth and forces him down, so he's awkwardly on his back, his bound arms stopping him from being all the way flat, and she settles on her knees, then, on the rug, working him inside. The angle's different, hitting her in new places, and she leans back just enough that his dick saws against the front wall of her, where she's already swollen, ready. "Push up," she says, demanding, and feels Walker drag his heels up behind her, and when his hips flex upward—yes, yes, that's it. They work together, him shoving up and her shoving down, grinding on the downstroke to feel how deep he goes—and he's watching her face up until he has to close his eyes, holding on.

She comes first, two fingers on her clit and Walker buried up to the hilt, inside. Walker groans, feeling the clench, and she leans forward, savoring the drag as she spasms around him. He looks like he has a fever, his face red and his eyes glittering, when they slit open. She drags all the way off and his dick slaps up against his belly, fat and shining. If things were different she'd take it in her mouth, but that's not how this goes. She settles further down, her pussy wet against the base of his dick, his balls, and wraps her hand around him, instead. He clenches, all over, and she jerks him hard, fast, squeezing at the top. Grinding her pussy against his balls so he can feel where he's not. How she's in charge, of how he comes and where he comes, and how fast and how well, and if he's smart he's feeling lucky, how she's letting him at all, how she's not just rubbing her cunt dripping with the better boy in his face and letting his dick wilt with no attention while he's trussed and helpless on her bedroom floor—but she's generous, and he did okay, today, and so she wrings the orgasm out of him with brutal efficiency, feeling his balls clench and his dick swell and the spatter all over his abs, white spray, thick and hard. She squeezes at the base, pulling hard all the way up, milking it out of him. "Baby," she says, soft, "you needed that, huh?" He doesn't respond and she didn't expect him to. His head thunks against the rug, his hips flexing up one last time and carrying her weight. His face tips to one side, his mouth open. His dick full, in her palm.

Micki gets up very carefully, making sure not to put any extra pressure on him. She grabs one of the wet wipes and gets her pussy, the slick insides of her thighs, but she's not the focus, anymore, and she's quick about it, tying her robe back up when she's done.

Trey first: he's fine. Tired but happy, tipped halfway back on the bed. She leans over him, kisses his mouth, and he smiles against her, kisses back softly. "Good?" she says, just to check, and he nods, so she gathers his hands and pulls him upright, smoothing her hands over his shoulders, his arms.

He comes with her, for Walker. She kneels down by Walker's side and cups his cheek while Trey gets another wipe and carefully swabs his abs, getting the spattered come off the ropes, the side of his belly where it spilled. Micki says, "Come on, cowboy," and pulls at Walker's shoulder, and he blinks at her sleepily and sits up. Winces, again. She helps him maneuver up to his knees and Trey works on the ropes while Walker leans his forehead against Micki's, breathing slow and tired. "Careful," Trey says, when the ropes are loose, and Micki soothes her hands over his chest where the red lines have cut in, over his biceps cramping from being trapped so long, over his forearms, holding his hands between their bodies. She kisses his cheek and folds him into a hug, and over his shoulder Trey smiles at her a little, and then goes into slight professional mode—strong hands over Walker's shoulders, and massaging his forearms, and then sliding soft checking fingers against his asshole, which Micki can always tell because Walker jumps, never expecting it.

"Should I turn my head and cough?" he says, sleepy but still ridiculous, and Micki sighs while Trey, predictably, actually laughs. These two.

She pulls back, and kisses Walker's cheek. He's smiling, eyes closed, when she looks at his face again. "Beer?" she says. "Shower?"

"Both," Walker says, rolling his shoulders. He groans. "In the opposite order."

"Don’t you use my shampoo," Trey says, holding out a hand, and Walker lets himself be pulled up to his feet, groaning again.

Micki stays on her knees for a moment. They're so tall, from this angle.

"I don't want to smell like coconut sea breeze, I think you're safe," Walker's saying, and Trey's grinning at him and saying something back about how it'd be better than Old Spice and Walker's grabbing a towel from the closet by the bathroom because he knows where these things are, in Micki's house, after all these months, and when the door closes Trey's still grinning, but it softens into a smile when he turns and sees Micki still there, on the rug.

"Good?" he says back to her.

She holds out both hands and he takes them and lets her pull herself upright. His hands slide over her sides, through the robe, and she leans against his chest, grateful and satiated and glad. She doesn't have to answer for him to know. He sets his chin on top her head and she feels his body, strong and solid. Hers in every way. She sets her cheek against his pec and smiles, hearing the shower come on. "Should I order his collar in black or blue?" she says, after a moment.

Trey snorts. "Navy," he says, "so I can rag his ass about it."

She swats his ass, lightly. "Behave," she says, to see him grin wider, and then goes into the kitchen for the beer.

**Author's Note:**

> [posted here on my tumblr if you'd like to reblog](https://zmediaoutlet.tumblr.com/post/645482936102273024/in-support-of-texas-relief) \-- reblogs help more people see the relief campaign, so it's appreciated if you have a tumblr.
> 
> Would appreciate any thoughts you have.


End file.
